


Frozen Morning in Waning Gibbous

by Krethes



Series: Reflections of Affection [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After The Summer at Remus's, Fluff, Light Sexual Content at the End, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), New Relationship, Sirius is still a little creepy, he can't look away, post-transformation, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29240220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krethes/pseuds/Krethes
Summary: He sat on a tattered puce armchair next to an equally tattered not-puce bed, looking at his best fri-- no, his boyfriend, he mentally corrected himself with a satisfied grin, feeling for a moment just the tiniest bit warmer. Remus was his boyfriend and he was sleeping soundly despite the freezing temperatures. Any other day of the month and Sirius would begrudge him for his success at sleeping, but this morning was Sacred. No one fucked with Moony on the Mornings After, Sacred Vow.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Reflections of Affection [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145600
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Frozen Morning in Waning Gibbous

**Author's Note:**

> Sirius really can't stop-won't stop looking at Remus. This is a follow-up fic to Beautifully Broken and Beauty Is In the Breeding, but they aren't dependent on each other. There are a lot of "asides" in paretheses that are Sirius's running inner dialogue.
> 
> I wrote this at 430 am because I literally needed to feel better about Wolfstar after "A House is Not a Home".

The Shrieking Shack was _frigid_ . Sirius could see his breath in faint puffs around him and was shocked he was even warm enough internally to make the difference. December in Scotland really was _shit_. Fuck everyone who found the winter to be “romantic” and “peaceful” and “quiet”. Merlin. What a load of cock. He'd take blazing hot summers over this crap any day. 

He sat on a tattered puce armchair next to an equally tattered not-puce bed, looking at his best fri-- no, his _boyfriend_ , he mentally corrected himself with a satisfied grin, feeling for a moment just the _tiniest_ bit warmer. Remus was his _boyfriend_ and he was sleeping soundly despite the freezing temperatures. Any other day of the month and Sirius would begrudge him for his success at sleeping, but this morning was Sacred. No one fucked with Moony on the Mornings After, Sacred Vow. 

He supposed it was a _little_ weird to be watching him sleep, but well...okay it was just weird. And also not the first time. At least here, in the icy enclosure known as Sirius’s New Circle of Hell, it was just the two of them, or it would be until the nurse came to check on her Most Trying Patient. 

Sirius _supposed_ he could just enchant himself warm. A little wave of his wand, a little Latin and poof, he’d be as toasty as a roasted marshmallow, but a) _technically_ students were not allowed to perform magic outside of classrooms, and Sirius was of course a Rule Follower and wouldn’t dream of breaking such an important rule, and b) he was absolutely knackered. After all, he’d been running alongside a goddamn werewolf all night after doing some very complicated magic to turn himself into a dog. He wasn’t even sure he could muster a “lumos” at this point.

Remus made a noise in his sleep, small and resembling a whimper, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed behind him, take him in his arms, and kiss the bad dreams away. But they hadn’t gotten to _that_ just yet. They’d done a _lot_ of snogging and some frantic “oh god yes please” over-the-clothes frottage in the month since they’d been Official, but Sirius hadn’t found himself in Remus’s bed since they were first years. 

Back then, Remus’s nightmares would wake him up (James and Peter could literally sleep through a herd of exploding erumpents) and Sirius would just invite himself to sleep next to him, his own small warm body bringing enough comfort to Remus’s that the nightmares went away. 

He’d had no clue why the boy was haunted so; it was hard to think of a time when he didn’t know everything about his Remus, his Favorite Werewolf (he was workshopping pet names, terms of endearment, totally normal boyfriend behavior). 

But they weren’t eleven anymore and crawling into a _man’s_ bed had a _lot_ of other Implications that could very well spook the injured werewolf and Sirius didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. 

Another noise, a furrow of his brow, a growl. Twitching. Distress on his face. Bony fingers clenching the blankets like a lifeline.

Sirius sighed, rubbing his frozen face with his stupid frozen hands. _‘Fuck it.’_ He toed off his shoes (he wasn’t an _animal_ ) and oh-so-quietly padded over ( _‘Padfoot, har har,’_ he joked to himself) to the bed. Looking down at this angle, Remus looked so _small_. Nevermind that the Skinniest Werewolf was some four inches taller than Sirius (who had blessedly outgrown Prongs in the fall (October 2nd, to be exact), but was still only 5’8” to Remus’s 6 feet and that would Just Not Do. He was researching growth potions.), he just looked fragile. 

His body was covered in an array of new scrapes and bruises, his bottom lip was split and he was bleeding in a number of places, albeit sluggishly ( _‘Frozen, probably, like my ass,’_ Sirius mused), but nothing was overly concerning based on what Sirius had witnessed before. It had been a relatively uneventful Full Moon, the three animagi sprinting alongside their wolf friend, doing whatever it wanted to do, per usual. Peter clung James’s antlers for dear life ( _‘Deer life,’_ he corrected himself) when they plunged into the fucking _lake_ after a fucking _goose_ , and it had been so god-awful-kill-me-now cold that Sirius, in his Endless Benevolence, insisted the other two go back to the dorm and sleep the minute the moon set.

That was about an hour ago. The nights in Scotland winters were long and terrible. Summer full moons didn’t seem nearly as bad, the one or two they usually got before term ended, anyway. Remus’s parents obviously didn’t - and couldn’t - know that the three teenagers were unlicensed animagi, so there was no way Mr Lupin was going to allow them over within a week of the full moon. Sirius shuddered to think of how his Delicate Flower managed the summer moons on his own. _‘Striking “Delicate Flower” from the list,’_ he decided inwardly. 

He considered, for a moment, turning into Padfoot and curling up at Remus’s feet, but wasn’t totally convinced he could pull it off right now and was totally convinced he was just being a little chicken shit and trying to find an excuse to _not_ be a brave Gryffindor and crawl into bed with his boyfriend.

Steeling his resolve, because Sirius Black was not Afraid of Anything, he lowered the blankets from around Remus’s neck and squashed the sudden urge to try to heal all of the little injuries he saw. Healing spells were not (yet) on his List of Things He Was Best At and there was that whole ‘no magic left to blow out a goddamn candle’ thing. And the rules thing. That, too. Using his superhuman abilities (his words, of course), Sirius soundlessly crawled in behind Remus and tucked his body against the bony frame.

It was unsettling just how much _heat_ radiated off of Remus. Sirius had noticed, over the years, that Remus was always warmer than the rest of them and had never really complained about being cold. Sirius used to think it was because the Handsomest Werewolf used some loophole about being a Prefect to enchant himself warm during the balls-fucking-cold winters, or maybe (and more likely) he just was acclimated to a colder winter since he was raised on the coast. But now...now he thought it was some werewolf bullshit and resolved to make use of his tawny space heater a little more often.

He resisted the Oh-So-Strong Urge to bury his nose into the Werewolf Inferno’s neck, where it was assuredly the warmest, and settled for gingerly draping his arm across his waist. Almost immediately, Remus stilled in his sleep and stopped his gut-wrenching noises. Sirius felt his tense body relax and lean into him a little. His heart fluttered, his stomach flopped, and he felt altogether like a third year girl whose crush finally looked at him in Potions class. He felt stupid, but that was Remus’s hold on him. He made him feel like that all the time, and he didn’t hate it. It was actually really nice.

Smiling smugly, he tucked his nose in the Actually Kind of Gross and Sweaty hair of his Lycan Love ( _‘Striking that one from the repertoire,’_ he noted mentally, not liking how icky it made him feel to refer to Remus as such), but left it there despite the dubious state of cleanliness. Remus would be mortified if he knew, Sirius was sure, but that was part of the fun. Finding new ways, new more _sordid_ ways now, to mortify Moony. Honored Marauder pastime.

He savored the way Remus was breathing gentler, the soft rise and fall of his chest. Merlin, he was beautiful. Sirius had always thought that but here, up close and surrounded by his overwhelming warmth (which made him the Hottest Werewolf), seeing his face at its newest, the first human face he’d wear for the month, made Sirius’s heart leap. The odd, jutting angles of his face in the dim pre-dawn light of the Shack were like modern art to Sirius, candy to his eyes to keep him interested. Each scar on his body told a different story, every line had its secrets and he was blessed enough to be privy to most of them by this point.

Instinctively, he tightened his hold just a smidgen around Remus’s waist, feeling the need to protect him and keep him safe. He could do that for him, it was the least he could manage. Pay him back for all the things he’d done for Sirius. He smiled into his hair, wanting to savor every moment they had together in this weird limbo of time between moonset and Madame Pomfrey’s arrival. 

Suddenly Remus started up his whimper again, clenched the blankets tight, and fidgeted. Sirius lept into action, drawing him in tight against his chest. He wedged his knee between Remus’s legs and remembered, for the first time, that Remus was _naked_. So… so very naked. (Waste of clothes to wear them before a transformation, after all.) He swallowed thickly, determined not to let His Moonship’s state of undress stray him from his Road of Good Intentions, and held him secure. When his Secret Spooning Technique was completed, his whole body basically enveloped Remus’s from behind; then he heard the sound that Summoned a Thousand Soldiers. 

“ _Padfoot… please… uhnnn…Siriussss..._ ”

Silence.

“ _Sirius_ please _there, oh...yes!”_

Remus was definitely still asleep -- Sirius lifted his head to peek and saw his eyelids still drawn close over those amber eyes that he couldn’t stop looking at. He felt a gentle stirring against his knee and the realization that dawned on him made his heart race, face flush, and his trousers uncomfortably tight. ‘Oh fuck me…’ he thought to himself, trying to focus on anything, _anything_ other than the fact that his boyfriend was having a post-transformation wet dream about _him_. Him! 

Remus could _not_ wake up to Sirius’s boner in his back. He wouldn’t allow it. No. Sirius Black had more control over his cock than that, surely! Frantic, he started thinking of the time he walked in on Bellatrix and Rodolphus shagging over summer holiday, the time he walked in on Bellatrix and Rabastan shagging, the time he walked in on Bellatrix and Lucius shaggi-- okay, really anything to do with his cousin’s sex life was a useful anti-boner tool and at least for now, it worked. He was calm, cool, and collected, except he wasn’t because internally he was doing somersaults and a happy jig because he was a Main Feature in Remus’s Wet Dream.

Remus fidgeted again, his very naked, just-plump-enough ass rubbing against Sirius’s finally-managed cock and Sirius almost shouted. _‘Not cool, not cool, not cool,’_ he thought to himself. Literally any other time, any other situation where his boyfriend could’ve properly consented to something more sordid and he’d be on him like syrup on pancakes but it would be Actually Very Wrong to take advantage of him _now_. 

Suddenly, Remus turned over in his sleep so that he was facing Sirius, one lanky limb (really, who _needed_ to be six feet tall at sixteen???) tangling up in the jeaned legs of Sirius Black, his arms tucked against his chest and his glorious wonderful, flushed face only inches from Sirius’s. Sirius held his breath and tried to be as still as possible. He felt like any second now, Remus’s Werewolf Tingly Senses would alert him to this Very Weird Threat and he’d be in Big Trouble.

_‘Fuck I hate being right all the time,’_ he bemoaned inwardly as Remus’s perfect eyelashes fluttered. A dry, bitten tongue peeked out to swipe his cracked split bottom lip and he groaned in a not-sex-dream way as his body adjusted to being _awake and in moderate pain_. Sirius watched it all unfold with a growing sense of dread, guilt, and shame. There was nowhere, no time, no way for him to escape. He’d have to think fast, come up with a reason, an excuse, a --

“Padfoot?” Remus’s voice was hoarse, like gargled stones, and his eyes were ever-so-wide. Sirius wanted to get lost in them, two pools of molten amber he could fall into over and over again. They widened further as realization dawned on him-- Sirius’s clothedness, his own nakedness, his uh… hard...ness. “Padfoot?” he repeated, stronger, vaguely accusatory.

Sirius slapped an innocent smile on his face and doubled down by tightening his grip around his boyfriend’s waist. “Yes, Moony?” he chirped innocently, batting his own eyelashes.

He saw the emotions flicker through his face -- fear (fortunately brief), embarrassment, anger, and then...shyness? Remus’s cheeks flushed further to a deep scarlet and he looked straight up at the cobwebbed ceiling. He swallowed nervously, his adam’s apple bobbing in _the_ most delicious way and Sirius just wanted to --

“Padfoot.” Mildly admonishing. On a scale of one to Moony’s Gonna Kill Me, it ranked about a 4. Sirius could live with a 4. He was still looking at the ceiling, giving Sirius full access to his beautiful lovely perfect throat, the line of his jaw that curved nicely into it, the fluttering of his pulse just underneath the skin, the -- _oh_. There were chapped lips on his suddenly in a shy, gentle kiss, and Sirius melted. Was it cold out? Surely not, he was perfectly warm now. 

“Padfoot.” Breathier, softer, less mad. Almost a zero. Murmured against his mouth before another soft, more assured kiss.

“You were having a nightmare,” he explained finally, the potential bomb defused. “I wanted to help you sleep like when we were kids.” Their eyes met and Sirius didn’t think it was all that healthy for his ticker to be ticking the way it was, skipping beats and trying to climb up his throat. 

A shy smile grew on Remus’s mouth and he reached out to bury his hand in Sirius’s hair, nails scraping his scalp just a little in a pleasant gesture. “But I’m uh… I’m naked, Padfoot.” 

“Yep.”

“Okay then.”

“... Do I need to… apologize?” Valid question. Sirius had learned early on it was best to ask if he was unsure. Moony liked that.

A moment, an unfamiliar look in Remus’s eyes, darker and harder than Sirius had seen before. “What time is it?” Completely ignored his question, what a prat. _‘...Wait a minute.’_

“Um… I think maybe… 7? I-- do I need to apologize, Moony, I don’t underst--”

Hands were on the button and zip of his jeans and realization crashed on him like the best wave. Oh. Oh! _Oh._

“Apologize however you feel is… appropriate,” was the still-shy but heated, emboldened murmur against his throat. Too-hot hands found their way under the waistband of his briefs and his brain short-circuited. 

Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t be down for another forty-five minutes at least. She liked to wait until the sun actually started to rise, not just the moonfall. Could never be too careful. 

Coldness of the room forgotten, Sirius freed himself of his shirt and dove under the blankets. He could apologize a _couple of times_ in forty-five minutes.


End file.
